Of Stars and Splinters
by BoundInSkin
Summary: When Robin is around Batman, he becomes a stranger to Superboy. Conner doubts whether he even knows the Boy Wonder at all. Implied MxM


**I apologise for any spelling/grammar mistakes or continuity errors. I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any DC characters. **

Batman is Robin's mentor, just as The Flash is Kid Flash's and Superman is Conner's own.

No. There is something wrong with that statement, a subtle hint of deceit hidden beneath the bright plastic words. Conner frowns. It has been over a year since he joined the newly formed Young Justice, but he still finds human emotions to be intricate, uncertain, confusing things.

At first, he thought that it was mere parental affection. Sure, Superman had never tousled his hair the way Batman ran his fingers through Robin's, but the Kryptonian was still at the stage of fatherhood where merely acknowledging Conner existed was difficult. The Flash didn't touch KF much, either, but he never paid his younger counterpart much attention.

After a while, though, Superboy found himself noting the way Batman's hand lingered on Robin's shoulder for a fraction longer than necessary as he wished them luck on their latest mission. The flashes of an indecipherable emotion that passed the usually stoic face as he watched his protégé train, the glances and the sighs and the unnecessary contact…

Now that he thought about it, he'd never seen Batman touch anyone else. His mind wandered back to the Justice League Christmas party they'd been invited to a few months ago. Batman had risen from his chair (as dark and brooding as ever) to make a speech, and as he crossed to the front of the room Superman reached out to give him an encouraging pat on the back. Batman had visibly flinched at the brief contact, shrugging his shoulder away immediately, and the white eyes of his mask had narrowed.

Robin wasn't an especially tactile person either. He accepted Kid Flash's high fives and Miss Martian's fleeting hugs, but always with an expression of begrudging discomfort. It was one of the reasons Superboy avoided touching him as much as possible.

(The other reason was that Conner feared once he'd started, he'd never be able to stop)

When he was around Batman, though, he seemed to be constantly brushing his fingers across his guardian's shoulder, or arm, or hand, as if a part of him ached for that familiar affection.

Conner didn't understand.

He could sense, with that vague reasoning that the humans called "intuition", that something wasn't right. There was something strange flickering away underneath the surface.

But surely if there really was a problem, someone else would have noticed it by now? Superboy's eyesight and hearing were above par, but the curious moments between Batman and Robin happened often enough that Conner knew they would be difficult for anyone to miss.

He'd tried to broach the subject with KF, once, cornered him in the kitchen as the red-haired teenager poured himself a glass of lemonade. He'd tried to explain, stumbling over his words, but KF had interrupted his stuttering description. His face was unusually serious.

"Look," he had said, sounding suddenly older than his fifteen years, "Robin could kick any of our asses in a fight. Plus, he's awesome with the logical side of our missions. We need him. And Batman… Batman's terrifying. Without him, the Justice League wouldn't be what it is today. So… just leave it, alright?"

He had given Conner a look as if he expected him to understand as he raised the drink to his lips. The glass clinked against his teeth, a horrible sharp sound that, intensified by his unnatural hearing, made Superboy wince. He left the kitchen quickly.

Conner sits on his bed, smoothing the duvet down with his fingers. He thinks about Robin. Recently, all he has done is think about Robin.

He lets himself drift into memory again. The one which surfaces doesn't surprise him.

It was two hours ago, and he thought he was alone in the Gotham apartment Young Justice used as an informal base. Conner had been reading that day's newspapers, a task which never failed to fascinate him. The world, written down in smudgy black ink, was so very beautiful and so terribly tragic. Kid Flash was away on a rare mission with his namesake. Aqualad had gone out swimming (again) and Miss Martian was visiting her uncle. Artemis had disappeared, as she had a tendency to do, and Robin… well, he had assumed that Robin was off with Batman.

He wasn't. Not "off" with him, anyway.

Conner had stretched, just to feel the satisfying pop his shoulders made as his muscles tensed, and pushed himself off the bed. He wandered out of his room, intending to get himself a drink from the bathroom, but stopped when his sensitive ears latched onto a whisper of sound.

It was coming from the lounge. He stepped silently towards the door, frowning a little, and slowly peered inside.

The room was dark, the air thick and heavy with a sense of solemnity. The television was on, bright colours flashing strange shadows onto the carpet, but muted. And Batman was sitting on the couch with Robin asleep on his lap.

Conner's eyes had widened as they adjusted to the dim light. Robin was in his civilian clothes, sunglasses discarded (his face looked delicate and young without them), snuggled into the crook of Batman's arm. The Dark Knight's face was turned downwards, towards his ward, and one gloved hand gently stroked the boy's dark hair.

Conner's own hand clenched into an involuntary fist. How many times had he wondered if Robin's hair was fine and soft, like Miss Martian's, or thick and coarse like his own?

Batman's other hand was resting on Robin's thigh, fingers splayed out across the boy's leg, and the casual gesture sent a wave of nausea flooding through Conner's body.

He turned away, disgusted by the warmth and the affection and the serenity of that quiet moment. He went back to his bedroom, stayed there until he heard the soft click of the door that announced Batman's departure.

Then he crept back to the lounge, feeling more like a villain than a hero, and stepped into the darkness.

Robin was lying on the sofa, arms outstretched, mouth hanging open slightly. Conner stared down at him. Robin, the sarcastic. Robin, the solitary. Robin, the wicked. Robin of the filthy laugh and the liar's eyes. Robin, the hero.

Conner tucked a blanket under his chin, positioning it carefully so that it covered the younger teenager's body completely. He didn't want him to get cold during the night. Then he let his fingers drift onto Robin's shoulder. He could feel the thin bones beneath the skin, as fragile and delicate as those of a newborn bird.

Was this how touching Robin made Batman feel? Powerful? Strong?

Conner sits on his bed, rubbing his head with his hand.

Robin sleeps beneath the stars, and Superboy's heart is splintering.

**Thankyou for reading. Please review, even if it's only a few words. They really do mean the world to me, and I appreciate every one of them.**


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